


Games

by Ayries (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-12
Updated: 2010-08-12
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:44:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Ayries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They keep it as a game, because they both understand games. Games are safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Games

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a prompt at the LJ fic meme.

This part is as much a game as any of it. Sherlock and his brother have always been at each other's throats, albeit it in a reasonably cordial sense, reduced to arguing about arguing, and to excuses for continuing their 'feud' so they can stay on familiar ground. They are simultaneously too close and too distant in personality to do anything else. (Mycroft would choose similar but Sherlock would insist they were different, because Sherlock may not care much for anyone else but he cares for what he does, at least.)

So they keep it as a game, because they both understand games. Games are safe. Well, safer. Sherlock absently notes that he doesn't suppose the average person would file this under 'safe'.

It's not something he has any real personal investment in, but he has to admit there is an art to undoing someone sexually. It adds a dimension of intelligence to an act that's otherwise basic enough that all it does is bore him. Mycroft certainly doesn't make it easy, either- he doesn't react at all to the press of his lips, doesn't push forward or pull back, probably doesn't even blink. Still, that's fine, that's the entire _point_. Sherlock runs his tongue across Mycroft's lips, calculating his next move.

He has the other man backed against a wall now. He keeps kissing, hands cataloguing, looking for any reaction he can use to his advantage. Nothing from the chest, legs, maybe that was _something_ from his neck but no, he thinks Mycroft is just trying to throw him off. His hands- that was a twitch, he notes, and then a shiver as he runs has thumb over the palm slowly and deliberately before digging short nails in. That's a win, Sherlock thinks triumphantly, and tangles his fingers with Mycroft's at shoulder height in a perverse imitation of... something. Something that's not really anything to do with him.

The kiss can more accurately be called one now; it is reciprocal. Not that either of them has any real experience in these matters, despite the band on Mycroft's finger, but he's fairly sure this is what people mean when they call a kiss 'deep'. His eyes are closed, though he doesn't remember closing them, and that brings the quiet noises and huffs of air into sharper focus and oh, they're a little obscene now. He can't tell who they're coming from, which worries him somewhere in the back of his mind, but he's got a leg between his brother's and he's pretty sure that should take priority.

This hasn't quite gone to plan, he thinks dimly.

The point of a game is to win, and he seems to have forgotten that part.


End file.
